Chimamanda Adichie, has penned an emotional tribute to her late mother, Grace Adichie, who died last month at the age of 78.
Adichieâ€™s mother passed on about eight months after her father, James Adichie, who died last June at the age of 88. The late Professor of Statistics reportedly died from complications of kidney failure while his wife died after a brief illness.
In a Facebook post late Wednesday, the multiple award-winning writer said her â€œheart break twiceâ€.
In the piece titled, â€˜How Does A Heart Break Twice?â€™, the author wrote, â€œHow does a heart break twice? To still be immersed in grief, barely breathing again, and then to be plunged callously back into a sorrow you cannot even articulate. How can my mother be gone forever, and so soon after my father?
â€œShe made history as the first female registrar of the University of Nigeria. She was a permanent board member of the Anambra State Basic Education Board ASUBEB.
â€œOn Friday she was at work, in her ASUBEB office in Awka. Her lovely assistant Mimi said she seemed a bit tired. Still, back home after work, she walked the half mile to St. Paulâ€™s Church for Stations of the Cross. On Saturday, she spent time in Louisaâ€™s shop, outside the gate of our house in Abba, watching the cars and people on the dusty road. On Sunday, her driver drove her to Mass. Sunday evening she was unwell. She was taken to a private hospital in Awka. We were worried, but a few hours later, she was better, sitting up, eating rice. On the phone I told her, â€œWe love you, Mummy, try and rest.â€
Adichie further narrated, â€œThe next morning, the doctor sent an update to say she was doing even better. But moments later, he took the sudden bewildering decision to transfer her to the Teaching Hospital, and she was hastily moved there. He claimed the Teaching Hospital had better facilities. â€œDo my children know Iâ€™m being transferred?â€ she is said to have asked. Two hours after she arrived at the Teaching Hospital, she died. It was March 1st, my fatherâ€™s birthday.
â€œHow does a heart break twice? As the days have passed my disbelief has grown. This perpetual astonishment of grief: Did it really happen? My mother is gone forever? How is it possible?
â€œWe were planning for my fatherâ€™s iyipu-akwa, to mark the end of the formal mourning period, and now I cannot believe that we are planning a funeral. Again.â€
â€œHow does a heart break twice? You discover emotions you cannot name. There is an emotion more hollow than sorrow. There is an acceptance drenched in disbelief. Language fails. ClichÃ©s come startlingly alive: the heart is truly heavy, it is no mere metaphor.
â€œThe mornings so dark you cannot get up from bed, the erratic pulse, the anger, the surprise, the tiny moments of forgetting, the regrets, the doomed attempts at escape. But the pain is waiting. The pain is inescapable.
â€œThe desperate longing to turn back time, just to see her again, hear her laugh one more time, hug and kiss her. Even if just to say goodbye, even if just to have the chance to say goodbye, to say thank you for everything you did for me and everything you were to me, to say I love you, again.
â€œThe questions. Why so soon? Why like this? Has the universe not given us our own fair share of pain for now?
â€œTo have loving parents, an entire life propped up by them, and in months to have it all end, so abruptly, with such unbearable finality. O kwerom edi,â€ she stated.